By EDWARD OGUTU
Elections come to a close; the teacher goes back to chalking on the intrinsic board, and the medics to their ailing patients, the construction workers to their incessant hammering on the concrete walls, the business folk to their mercantile ways. All back to the business of normality. Enter the common mwananchi, the one who trudges painfully along towards the pangs of the painful livelihood that awaits with trepidation. It is inescapable, isn’t it? There seems to be an eternal wall of imprisonment for them. At the pains of being called stale, I say again. There is no escape and I feel this more so for our young who go back to, well, this place, with lopsided smiles and cheap laughter, we fervently call it our ‘beloved country’.
I live in a dominantly Kikuyu neighborhood, where even mama mboga (vegetable vendor) extends a greeting in Kikuyu because…
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